The York King
by KunAguero
Summary: Elizabeth of York secretly married Richard III before his defeat at Bosworth Field and bore him a prince. In order to save him from death, she hid the child at court and watched over him from afar as Queen of Henry VII. Now the boy has grown into a man and is claiming his true birth rite, the crown of England. And that boy's name is Charles Brandon...
1. A Secret Marriage

**Author's Note: **I own none of the characters, just the plot which I pulled out from my own imagination. Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

_**May 1485**_

Princess Elizabeth placed her hands nurturingly over her bump as she waited patiently at the altar in the chapel at Middleham Castle. How she had longed for this day. How she had dreamt and fantasized about it. Like all girls, she had been planning her wedding day for as long as she could remember.

Perhaps it wasn't going to be as glorious and glamorous as she had imagined, but her groom was everything she could have wished for and more.

She was to marry a King.

King Richard III of England.

She knew that many people would object to the marriage. Her mother, for one! She would think it immoral that she claimed to love the man who supposedly killed her brothers. She would think it wicked that she had broken her betrothal to Henry Tudor and claim the union to be incestuous. But Elizabeth did not care. She loved Richard for **who** he was, not **what** he was. It just so happened that he was both the King of England and her Uncle. And she truly believed with all her heart that he was not responsible for the death of the two young Princes.

She knew the people would talk about them, gossiping and condemning them for such a vile act. _Let them talk,_ she thought,_ peasants know nothing about true love._ There were already rumours flying around London that she was his official mistress and that Richard had killed his first wife in order to make room for the new one. Luckily, nobody knew she was with child yet or else the rumour would have been even more reinforced. Any way, ladies never listened to gossip in the first place.

**She** knew Richard was a good, honourable man and that was all that mattered.

It was he who had suggested they get married in the first place. A lesser man would have let a woman in her condition give birth out of wedlock and condemn the child to be a bastard. But not her Richard. He wanted the child to be legitimate so it would have the right to be King one day.

But these were dangerous times.

They had been thrown back into the old days of war torn England. Rebellions were rampant and the Lancastrians were determined to have one of their own back on the throne again. They even conspired to use Elizabeth in their schemes. A marriage that would reunite the Houses of York and Lancaster together once more. Elizabeth was to marry the Lancastrian Henry Tudor.

But she would not! The very thought of it made her sick to her stomach. Her heart belonged solely to Richard and nothing in the world could part her from her love.

After what seemed like a lifetime, the doors to the chapel finally burst open and she watched in awe as her lover walked up the stone aisle towards her. He looked magnificent in his gold embroidered doublet and black velvet hose. It even looked as though God was shining down upon him as the sunlight bounced off the golden crown he wore on top of his curly, coal black hair and shone down upon them. He looked truly ethereal and blessed.

She, in comparison, looked more fey and serene in her silver gown. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in an abundance of golden waves as it hung down to her waist. And to top it all off she wore a stunning tiara of diamonds and sapphires. Richard thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in all the world and could easily understand why people believed her to be a descendant of a river goddess. She truly resembled a water nymph.

"My love" he greeted her with a hungry, knowing smirk. He felt like he could consume her on the spot, church be damned!

"My King" she whispered and curtsied as low as her swollen belly would allow. This would be the last time she would ever have to bow down to him.

He took hold of her hand and brought her back to her feet again, his emerald eyes now locked upon her azure ones. And as they turned towards the priest who was about to perform the secret ceremony, he placed his hand tenderly upon the bump.

They were to be joined mind, body and soul for the rest of their days.

* * *

Unfortunately for Elizabeth, the rest of their days did not amount to much time.

On a sweltering hot day at the beginning of August, after fifteen agonising hours in labour, Elizabeth gave birth to her child. Richard pushed through the door and almost knocked the midwife over in his haste to meet the new life that he helped create.

He was not disappointed with what he found.

He picked the tiny bundle up from the portly wet nurse and cradled it in his arms as he looked upon it in complete amazement.

It was a son. They had named him Charles.

Elizabeth smiled approvingly from her bed. She was completely exhausted and covered in a film of glistening sweat, but she was truly elated at the scene occuring before her. She could never have imagined such pure, unadulterated bliss in all of her wildest dreams. But she knew her happiness would not be long lasting.

The threat of battle loomed in the air like a nasty stench.

"He is the reason you cannot go to war" she warned him after observing him coo over the surprisingly expressive little boy. The little prince had his father's colouring but his mother's bright, piercing blue eyes.

"He is the reason I **must **go" Richard rationalised in a very matter-of-fact manner.

Before all this, he might have admitted to fighting for selfish reasons. For fame, for glory, to maintain a knowingly usurped crown. But now he felt that having a child justified his cause. It was no longer a fight for survival. It was now a fight for legacy. He must secure the crown so that one day his son might inherit it. It was Charles' birth rite and he would fight for the rite with all of his strength.

"You would willingly allow your son to grow up without a father?" she whimpered. She was usually quite a strong willed, if slightly naive, young woman but the stress of childbearing and birth had made her an emotional wreck as of late. She could feel her eyes watering as she fought hard against the tears building up in her eyes. Richard could see them shining with unborn tears.

"I fight for England. For **us**. For **our** son" he proclaimed passionately, looking at his son with complete adoration. It was as though he had never seen anything so beautiful before in his entire life. He was truly a cause worth fighting for even if it inevitably meant his death. From that moment on, Richard knew that it was his destiny to fight at Bosworth Field.

"He **will** be King one day, Elizabeth. I swear it" he solemnly proclaimed, sitting himself on the edge of her bed and resting his dark head against her fair one in a loving manner, like two birds feathering their nest.

And for all his faults, she believed him.

She trusted him with such utter, blind faith that when she discovered his fate on that cursed 22nd day of August, that she could scarcely believe her ears.

Richard had been defeated in battle.

Cut down from his horse and slaughtered like a cow at the butcher's. They went into gory detail about his death. Apparently blood poured out of him like an overturned barrel of Burgundy wine. His limbs had nearly been hacked off. The back of his head had been smashed in and part of his skull had been sliced off. His body was stripped and he was slung into a pauper's grave, as though he were a nobody and not a God anointed King.

She couldn't believe it.

Not her Richard.

They had to be mistaken.

But when it had been proved beyond any doubt, it hit her like a thousand daggers to the heart. She cried him a river and more, yet her tears ceased to dry. Her throat was hoarse from all of her wailing. Her bones ached. It was torture to even be alive.

What would she do without him? And what would happen to poor Charles? Bad enough that he should be raised without a father, but as the son of a deposed King he was in danger of meeting the same grisly end. She knew she had to act quickly, but what should she do?

It was then that her mother made a suggestion to her.

There were only a scarce number of people who knew that she had married Richard in the first place, let alone know they had a son together. Most of those who witnessed the union were family members. And if they didn't know beforehand, they knew full well now to keep their mouths shut over such a matter. They had all succumbed to the fact that Henry was their sovereign King now. Many of them embraced it.

The whole kingdom had tired of wars and rebellions and were ready for a time of peace and prosperity. England was finally united under one sovereign King.

The marriage remained secret. As did Charles.

He was sent to live with Elizabeth "Bess" Brandon, one of Elizabeth's childhood confidante who had also lost her husband in the same battle. He had been one of Henry Tudor's standard bearer's, though Bess did not mourn her deceased husband one moment longer than what she needed to. They thought it a wise idea to place the child into a family that was already loyal to the Tudors. Nobody would suspect a thing.

It was all very easy to fake.

And so all that was left for Elizabeth to do was to forget about those blissful months of happiness where she was Elizabeth Plantagenant, mother of Prince Charles and wife to King Richard III. She was forced to marry Henry Tudor and although she was content in her marriage, she was never truly happy.

She went on to have seven children with him and it was her second son, named Henry after his father, that took the throne after the old King died in 1509. And it was in 1529, during Young Henry's reign, that the truth was finally revealed about Elizabeth's secret past...


	2. Broken Fragments

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for the kind comments! Hope you enjoy the next installment. I've posted the cast for the story on my profile page if you're interested in checking it out. Who do you imagine as the characters, I would love to know! Thanks guys :-)

* * *

It was a fact universally acknowledged that King Henry VIII of England no longer loved his Queen.

When they were newly wedded they were considered the most handsome couple in all of Europe. He was tall and burly with a full head of flaming red hair and an auburn beard to match. She in turn, was equally as beautiful with strawberry blonde hair that shone like spun gold in the sunlight. She was petite and cherubic yet still maintained a dignified grace so very rare for her young age.

Men fell in love with her at first sight and Henry was deeply covetous of his elder brother, Arthur, when he discovered that the lovely princess was intended for his bed rather than his own.

But fate is a strange mistress indeed and barely six months into their marriage Arthur was struck down dead with consumption. Poor Catherine found herself alone in a strange, cold land with few friends and even fewer prospects. She was stuck in limbo as her father-in-law, the miserly Henry VII, refused to allow her back to the sunny shores of Spain.

She was a prisoner in her new found home, friendless and penniless.

Her only salvation lay in gallant Prince Henry, whose adoration of the beautiful young Infanta had not waned an inch in eight years.

When he became King he decided to make her his Queen and the kingdom rejoiced.

But twenty years of marriage had eventually took its toll upon their relationship.

Time had weathered Catherine's infamous beauty. Her cherubic cheeks were now sallow. Her luscious strawberry hair had thinned and was fast turning a grizzled grey. Her once smooth, alabaster skin was now marked by wrinkles and creases. Her fine, shapely figure had gown large and bulging from numerous pregnancies.

Even her temperament had changed. Although she had always been a God fearing woman, in her later years she became religious to an almost fanatical level. She fasted and purged and spent hours knelt upon the cold, stone floor of the altar praying to her God for absolution. It did not take long for the fun loving and vibrant Henry to grow tired of her perfectly pious ways.

He would rather joust and hunt and be merry than pray on bended knee all day. He started to seek alternate forms of company.

He had always had an eye for the ladies and it did not take long for his eye to wander. He was King after all, and he considered it his God given right to sample the local delicacies paraded before him. It was like visiting a cattle market.

There had been the elegant Anne Stafford, the seductive French Jane Popyncort and of course his old favourite merry Bessie Blount. Poor Catherine resented Bessie the most, for she gave him what the favoured Queen could not. A son. There was also the mischievously vivacious Mary Boleyn, who was so infamous for her promiscuity she was referred to as the 'Great Whore'.

His latest amore was Mary's sister, the darkly seductive Anne, who could stop any man with a glance of her mesmerizing onyx eyes. Some said you could see the pits of Hell when you looked into her eyes.

Henry saw only Heaven, for he was completely besotted by the free spirited little minx and was not shy about letting her know. He pursued her relentlessly.

Anne, however, was no fool. Unlike his past mistresses she know how to milk him for his entire worth. She knew that once the King had taken you to his bed it was only a matter of time before he cast you off as damaged goods. Anne would never allow herself to be so used and abused by a man, never mind a King. She was an ambitious young lady with a strong mind and quick wit. She knew what she wanted and stopped at nothing to make sure she achieved it.

And when she decided that she wanted the Queen's crown, she knew she had to be ruthless to get it.

She had a plan.

A plan that would change England in more ways than one.

* * *

_1529_

Life had been blissful for the Dowager Queen, Elizabeth of York, since the passing of the late King Henry VII.

She still enjoyed all of the grand privileges that were bestowed upon her as mother of the King, but now she could rest easy away from the leering gaze and grubby hands of her husband. How she shuddered to remember those times between the bed sheets! His very touch made her skin crawl. She was glad that the old miser was dead though she believed that divine justice had been slow to wreak it's revenge upon the usurper who killed her beloved Richard.

Nowadays she was more content, spending her time devoting herself to her family and to God. In the morning she would sit with Mary, her precocious auburn haired granddaughter who had a thirst for knowledge and would spend an age asking her questions about the War of the Roses and her time as a girl. How she adored the little cherub. She knew that she had a great future ahead of her.

And in the afternoons she would stroll around the grounds with her entourage, catching up on court gossip and tending to her roses. White and red roses grew side by side, a symbolic gesture to show the unity of the House of Tudor. Then she would go off to chapel to pray with her daughter-in-law Catherine. Poor, sweet Catherine. Elizabeth sympathised with the cursed creature. She knew only too well how hard it was to be married to a Tudor.

She admired the lady for her patience and loyalty, for Elizabeth had determined long ago that only a mother could truly love Henry. He was such a difficult child and even now as King of England he was petulant and spoilt. She knew that Katherine adored her husband but Elizabeth was the only who truly loved him, faults and all. She loved all of her children with an unyielding devotion.

Even Charles.

Poor Charles, so ignorant of his true birth right and devoid of a mother's love. Well, his **true** mother's love anyway, for she did not doubt that Bess Brandon loved him any less than a natural child. But he was **her** child and she wanted to smoother him with hugs and kisses like a mother ought to.

Elizabeth had thanked the Lord daily that he had kept him in such close proximity to her, for Henry had befriended the boy at a young age and now they were practically inseparable. Charles was his best friend and most trusted confidante. It touched her heart to see the boys frolicking around with each other like true brothers.

And in those moments she often longed to tell them the truth.

Yet she always held back, for she knew what dangers would lie ahead of such a secret was ever revealed.

But one fateful autumn's afternoon all that was about to change.

Henry gave a curt knock against the door of his mother's study before he entered the room, not even giving her the common courtesy of waiting for her response. She was hunched over her gold gilded desk sifting through various documents, a burgundy shawl draped over her shoulders in order to keep the chill away from her aching bones.

Anne followed in behind him like a loyal lap dog, bedecked in crimson silk and sparkling rubies. She glittered like a roaring fire and her onyx eyes burned like hot coals. She had created the desired effect. Henry was almost in a frenzied passion beside her and longed to take her to his bed.

But she still kept him at a distance.

_"Not until I am your Queen,"_ she would remind him in a breathless whisper as the two were almost in a state of complete undress. And with a mischievous smirk she would disappear into the night like a cat on the prowl leaving Henry wanting her even more than before.

Well, he planned to make her wish a reality sooner rather than later.

"Lady Mother" Henry called out, earning his mother's attention. She looked up at him a moment and then in one graceful movement she signed her name with a flick of her wrist. He had her full attention.

"My dear boy, to what do I owe this honour?" she enquired, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.

"Mother, I would like for you to meet Mistress Boleyn" he announced with that dazzling smile that could woo the wimple off a nun. He took hold of Anne's hand and led her before his mother to be inspected. Knowing her place, Anne sunk to the floor in a respectful curtsey, beaming brightly at the old woman and waiting to be adored.

She would be waiting for a long time.

Elizabeth was not the least bit impressed with the spectacle before her.

"You wish me to meet your whore?" she crudely enquired, looking between Henry and the girl. Anne rouged and lowered her eyes in shame. She was used to it by now of course, but the words still stung all the same. "Which one is this, Mary or Anne?" she continued to humiliate the poor girl, knowing only too well which Boleyn sister was grovelling at her feet.

The whole court knew about their foul relationship.

Henry blanched and shot his mother a loathsome look.

"Mother!" he roared in protest at hearing such words spoken against his love. "Anne is no whore"

"She looks like one" Elizabeth observed the decadent jewels and garish colours of Anne's ensemble. And her face was painted heavy with make up. She even wore her French hood like a whore, placing it so far back that she showed off her ebony hairline. She was a disgrace to her Howard lineage. "She acts like one, carrying on with a married man so publicly. And with a King no less" she continued to chastise with her sharp tongue.

But it was here that Henry interrupted the old woman's rant.

"I intend to marry her" he proudly announced and Anne's heart jumped into her throat.

_He has done it! He has publicly announced his intentions towards me. There is no turning back now. _

_I am to be Queen!_ _Anne, Queen of England._

A shiver ran down her spine at the sudden realisation of her situation.

She couldn't help but smirk victoriously at the old crone. No one would dare bad mouth the Boleyn sisters and get away with it again. She was untouchable now and Elizabeth Tudor had better learn to curb her tongue and remember her betters, for Anne would soon outrank her and all other ladies in the kingdom.

"Marry?" Elizabeth spat in disbelief.

It was a good thing that she was already sitting down for she might have collapsed from shock. The news had quite literally knocked the breath out of her and she struggled to speak for a moment.

_Surely he cannot be serious? He is mad!_

She began to regain her composure.

"Mistress Boleyn" she addressed Anne directly for the first time and Anne drew herself up from off the floor, her chin raised a little higher than normal from her swelling pride. "Would you be so kind as to leave us for a moment?" she continued in a honeyed tone, as though she had not just insulted the girl's virtue a moment before.

But before Anne could stray an inch Henry grabbed hold of her hand.

"No! She stays" he ordered, bringing her hand to his berry stained lips and planting a kiss upon her dainty knuckles as sign of his undying affection. Anne in return brought her hand to his cheek and brushed it lovingly against his golden stubble. The two exchanged smiles.

"Fine, if you want your filthy little slut to know my true feelings, on your own head be it! How do you intend to marry her if you are already married to Catherine?" Elizabeth queried with all the authority of a mother.

Henry felt the world upon his shoulders. He and Anne had debated this very problem from months on end, arguing deep into the night. And then they found a suitable solution and although he knew it was the only method of ending his marriage with Katherine, it still made him uneasy to consider such a thing.

"I plan to annul the union. We were never truly married in the eyes of God..." he began to explain but Elizabeth cut him off mid sentence.

"Oh not this again!" she groaned, burying her head into her hands in disdain. She was growing sick of having this conversation time and time again. He had seemed to mention this factor every fortnight for the past five years.

"She was my **brother's wife**! It was unlawful" he argued, smacking his hand on the table in an effort to display his zealous passion on the matter. Elizabeth merely rolled her eyes.

_And the Boleyn whore thinks she can tame a beast like this? Catherine has the patience of a saint. You, on the other hand, only care for what your eyes covet. A royal crown._

"You cannot divorce her. You have been married nearly twenty years now. You have children by her. The Pope will not take the slightest bit of notice of your concerns" she tried to explain in her most sympathetic tone, praying he would take note of what she said and abide by it.

"We do not need the Pope's blessing on this matter, nor yours" it was the first time Anne had spoke during the meeting but she had instantly made an impact. Her voice was cool, deep and sultry but it was not the tone of her voice that captured Elizabeth's attention, but the nature of her words.

"What mean you by that, Madam?" she coldly demanded, outraged that the little slut had dared to speak to her, a daughter of York and Queen of England. She had shown herself up for the social climbing whore she was.

"I have enlightened your son to the true gospels of Christ. We no longer need Papal approval for as head of State, Henry should also be head of the Church of England"

These simple few words caused Elizabeth's heart to drop into the pits of her stomach. Or was it the pits of hell? For she had never heard of such heresy in all her life and she was genuinely frightened for the soul of her son. What had this witch done to him? Her head was swimming.

"I cannot allow you to do this" Elizabeth stated, not knowing what else to say. She was completely flabbergasted by Anne's comment.

"You have no choice in the matter, Lady Mother. I am King!"

_No, you have to stop him. You have known all his life that he is a selfish boy and you have pandered to his whims. But now you must stand up to him._

She shook her head no in defiance.

"Mother, I will marry Anne and not you nor any man alive will stop me" he yelled.

The words echoed in her ears.

_"any man alive...any man alive...any man alive..."_ she knew of someone who could stop him. Who would stop him if he carried on behaving in such a foolish manner. It was one thing to endanger his own soul but to risk the life and souls of the English people. She would not allow it!

_This is it,_ she thought to herself, _You managed to keep it secret for almost thirty years but now you are about to reveal something that could change the course of history._

"No Tudor man can ever rightfully claim to be King of England. Your Father stole the crown from the true King and unlawfully slew him on his own soil"

"Be careful what you say, Mother. It smacks of treason" Henry warned, his pale blue eyes glowering at her dangerously. He didn't like to be speak so harshly towards her but she was getting close to toeing the line of danger now.

"Treason be damned! I will not sit back and watch you ruin the Kingdom. I have seen this country divided too many times before" she recollected the time of her youth. Of how her own family were divided and murdered, one by one, by foolishness and ambition.

"I have decided. There is nothing you can do to change my mind" he stated rather matter of factly.

"Oh yes there is, my son. And if you wish to keep that crown upon that fair head of yours you will tell Mistress Boleyn to wait for you in the gardens" she spoke with such soberness that Henry instantly knew that his mother was not jesting. He could see the sorrow in her eyes. Something was seriously wrong.

"Do as she says, Anne" he quietly commanded, not even turning his head to look at her. Anne was affronted and tried to sweet talk him into letting her stay.

"But Henry, I..." she began to plead.

He was having none of it.

"Now!" he snapped.

Anne bit her tongue in case she said something she would later regret and left the room in a sulky manner, slamming the door shut behind her with a thunderous crash. She would be having words with him about this later on. He would not treat her like this when they were married. She was determined they would be equals. She **would** have her own way, one way or another.

Mother and son were alone in the room now and the silence was growing awkward.

The tension was mounting and it was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"My son, you must forgive me for what I am about to tell you" Elizabeth begged and she took in a deep breath as she began her story.


End file.
